


Behind the Name

by Sarahphrina



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Slash, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahphrina/pseuds/Sarahphrina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six times Lestrade was asked about his name and the one time he wasn’t</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Name

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt [here](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/14370.html?thread=78709282#t78709282) for [Sherlock BBC Kink Meme](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/)

1\. His father  
  
The first time Lestrade’s name was in question, he wasn’t even born yet.  
  
“Have you decided what you’re going to name him?” Gregory Lestrade murmured to his wife as he gently stroked her stomach.  
  
“Oh, I have a few names picked out.” Iris Lestrade breathed in the scent of her husband as she contentedly laid her head on his shoulder.  
  
“Don’t you want to share?”  
  
“I think I’m going to keep that all to myself.” She teased. “You got to decide whether we found out the baby’s sex, now it’s my turn.”  
  
He gave a theatrical sigh. “Well alright darling but if he comes crying to me about being bullied because of his name I’m going to blame you.”  
  
His wife arched an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my judgement my dear husband?”  
  
“Of course not.” He gave a grin. “I’m sure whatever you decide will be wonderful. It’ll be a nice story to tell later on anyway, how the first thing our son and I ever did together was to find out his name.”  
  
Iris Lestrade went into labour a week later and died, mere minutes after the baby was born. The last thing she ever did was write a shaky, barely legible letter on her son’s birth certificate.  
  
In the end, the first shared moment between father and son was to watch her die.  
  
Gregory Lestrade never found out what his wife wanted their son to be called nor did he have the chance to blame her. It didn’t matter anyway because in the end, he was right.  
  
G was a wonderful name.  
  
  
2\. His teacher  
  
G had a relatively happy and safe childhood. He had a really cool daddy who played games with him and gave him new toys and an awesome Auntie Rose who cooked yummy food and told him bedtime stories. It perhaps wasn’t as exciting as slaying a dragon or practising a new spell but he didn’t mind. Much. At least he knew that the other boys in the neighbourhood were in the same boat as he was.  
  
The first time his world faltered came in the form of a patiently asked question on the first day of school.  
  
“What does G stand for dear?”  
  
G didn’t understand the first time Mrs Williams asked the question nor the second or the third. By that time his teacher was giving soft reassurance, mistakenly taking his blank confusion for panicked horror. “It’s alright sweetheart, just a silly little mistake the office made, I’m sure your mummy or daddy is going to sort this all out.”  
  
G smiled uncertainly and soon enough, Mrs Williams moved on to talk with the whole class but he couldn’t for the life of him, understand what had just happened.  
  
Why had she asked about his mummy? He knew that everybody else had at least one mummy and daddy. Sometimes, they even had more than one pair. He had a mummy too; saw her in photos next to Daddy but it was different, because she was never actually _there_. He had a daddy and an Auntie Rose instead. Other boys had mummies to nag at them but he had Auntie Rose who did none of that bad, boring stuff and all of the good. He had always thought it was because he was a good boy who never needed a mummy to shout out at him but…  
  
What if it was the opposite? What if Mummy wasn’t there because he was bad? So bad that she wouldn’t even meet him?  
  
G’s increasing worry made him glance around and his eyes were suddenly caught on the various nametags written in bold, colourful paint. He realised with sudden clarity just how small and easily forgotten it was on the large expanse of white paper, how _different_ it was compared to others, and felt terror wash over him.  
  
If it was because he was bad that Mummy wasn’t there, then it was alright, because G knew he could fix that and become good, like he had with Daddy and Auntie Rose. But what if it was because he was different? Because he was weird? G couldn’t fix weirdness. Everybody knew that once you got it, it was for life – just like getting cooties from girls.  
  
By the time Auntie Rose came to collect him, G was very, very upset. It was only because he didn’t want to be a baby that he hadn’t already burst out in tears and if a few drops of moisture had gotten near his eyes, he had wiped it away furiously with no one the wiser.  
  
He calmed down when she told Mrs Williams ‘G’ was a perfectly normal name. He didn’t really like Mrs Williams and thought she needed a telling off from her own mummy about being rude.  
  
The first thing he did when the teacher left and they were heading home was ask, “Everybody else has a mummy. Where's mine?”  
  
Auntie Rose had nearly tripped before she got herself together. “I think, G that that is a question you need to ask your daddy okay sweetie?”  
  
G bit his lip. “It’s not because I’m bad is it?”  
  
“Of course not sweetheart!” Auntie Rose’s next words came out a bit choked. “She’d be here if she could be but she can’t, no matter how much she wishes for it.”  
  
“Not even on a falling star?”  
  
“Not even then.”  
  
G leaned in to impart a great secret and whispered, “Will she still want to even if I’m… _weird_?”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with being special G.” Her words were firm. “Who told you that?”  
  
“No one.” He muttered. “It’s just…my name is so…short compared to others.”  
  
“‘G’ is an awesome, really cool and special name. You want to know a secret?” G nodded eagerly. “Your mum is the one who gave you your name.” G looked awed and Auntie Rose nodded decisively. “That’s why your mummy loves you very much, no matter how bad you’ve been and she is always proud of you, even when she can’t be here.”  
  
When his dad returned, G asked him about Mummy and he sighed but gently told him the story about his mum. He was sad that she was never going to visit or bake a cake with Auntie Rose on his birthday but it didn’t matter. She had given him the best present ever anyway, nothing could beat a name that was his, and his alone.  
  
That night he fell asleep to the sound of Auntie Rose’s voice as she told a story about his mum and dreamed about his whole family having a picnic together on the clouds with angels flying around them.  
  
  
3\. His classmates  
  
When he received the news of his dad’s and Aunt Rose’s death in a car accident, his life shattered and was put back together with pieces that didn't fit, creating a world he did not recognise.  
  
He was nine.  
  
In a few short minutes after the news, everything changed. His only family was Aunt Rose and she died with his dad in the car crash. There was no one else. Even if they’d left everything to him, he was still too young and no guardian meant he may as well have been left with nothing.  
  
Before he really had time to even process anything he found himself in a modest Catholic orphanage just outside of London and transferred to another school.  
  
For the first few months he barely spoke a word. Not even his sessions with a counsellor yielded anything. Despite his reticence from people G stayed out of trouble and was frequently awarded for his good behaviour by the matron. Needless to say, this hardly endeared himself to the other occupants and things finally came to a head one summer’s afternoon five months after his arrival.  
  
G was reading in the shade of a tree when he was cornered by four boys much larger than him though he recognised them as being in the same class as he was in.  
  
“What’s so special about you? Acting all so bloody perfect, you don’t even have a proper name.” One of the boys sneered arrogantly. G’s hands tightened on his book but he remained silent.  
  
“‘G’ isn’t a name anyway. It’s a _letter_. Letters can’t be names.” Another said importantly as if he had just discovered a way to achieve world peace.  
  
“Yeah, are you stupid or something? Or maybe your mummy and daddy were the stupid ones. Stupid enough to name you a stupid name before getting themselves killed –”  
  
He didn’t even have time to finish before G threw his book aside and launched himself at the bully to punch him square in the face. There was a brief moment of stunned stillness before the others hurried to help their fallen friend.  
  
In the end, G received a black eye, a split lip, a concussion and a broken arm along with a sever scolding from the matron.  
  
It was worth it.  
  
G spent a lot of time thinking during his recovery period since he couldn’t really do anything. The words however, repeated itself constantly over and over in his head and he couldn’t help but resent the fact that both his dad and Aunt Rose had left him alone and were probably having the time of their life with his mum. He would give anything to be with them again or just get some news from them. Even a letter would suffice.  
  
At least he managed to give the bullies a lesson clearly punched into their faces.  
  
By the time he was able to return to school, he was mostly healed and the first thing he did was introduce himself as Gabriel.  
  
G was his and he didn’t want to share it with anyone else, especially those who would only taunt him about it. They didn't _deserve_ to know.  
  
  
4\. His superior  
  
G spent the rest of his school days as well as university life as Gabriel Lestrade. He did move on from his dad and Aunt Rose’s deaths and time soon blurred the memories he had of them. He kept the name though, even though there were a few ribbing from his friends by calling him ‘Gabby’, because it made him feel slightly closer to the family he no longer had.  
  
He was content with the name until he decided he didn’t want to become a lawyer like his dad and wanted to help people in another way. He wanted to become a police officer.  
  
He admitted that despite all the other reasons he had chosen the name; he had also done it because he was equally ashamed of the name as he was proud of it and he didn’t want to deal with all the questions and disbelief. If he wanted to become a part of the Met, he couldn’t afford to back down and comply like that.  
  
When he graduated from the police academy and was put into Criminal Investigation Department just as he hoped under DI Olsen, he introduced himself as Greg Lestrade before his superior could even ask.  
  
He thought his old man would be proud.  
  
  
5\. His wife  
  
He was thirty one when he first met Sandra O’Meara.  
  
It wasn’t the most auspicious of meetings but then again, there were worse ways of being introduced to a beautiful girl with long red hair and light blue eyes than escaping a collapsing tower of canned beans courtesy of her trolley and her dubious steering.  
  
She had apologised profusely for the incident and luckily for G, had taken his gaping expression towards her as shock. G just thought she looked very, very sexy in that dress and wondered if it was legal to wear that while doing something as simple as shopping at Asda.  
  
“How rude of me, I’m Sandra. Sandra O’Meara. And you are…?”  
  
G froze at that question and somehow, though the name ‘Greg Lestrade’ was at the tip of his tongue, it just couldn’t come out.  
  
Wouldn’t.  
  
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he didn’t want this woman to know him – call him – the name of his father. It was all well and great to gain respect under his father’s name, not so much when he wanted this female who he was so utterly enthralled by to the point of vacant stupidity to remember him of a name that didn’t have so much baggage.  
  
He blurted out the first name he could think of. “George!” He swallowed and coughed slightly before saying more politely and with a smile, “its George Lestrade.”  
  
Sandra smiled back and G never felt happier as he saw it was directed towards him. There was also a lot of relief that she hadn’t realised he had gotten inspiration from the George clothing several aisles down. Then again, the relief could also have been from seeing that brand first. He didn’t think he could pass it off as a joke if he had blurted out the name ‘Gucci’ or something equally incriminating. “Well then George, I’m sorry for trying to kill you by making it rain cans of beans.”  
  
G calculated that throwing himself at her feet while loudly sobbing _‘I LOVE YOU!’_ was probably not the best move and instead settled for, “No harm no foul. You can always come and have dinner with me if you want to…uh…show your…” He searched for a word that wouldn’t make him appear like a jerk, “…concern.”  
  
Sandra laughed but readily agreed.  
  
One date quickly turned into another and before G knew it, they were married two year later.  
  
It was probably a sign that they wouldn’t last when they had their first major argument mere hours after the ceremony but then again, it _was_ G’s fault that he never told her about his other names. It was actually the first time that all three parts of his life collided with each other. He managed to tell Sandra his real name but he knew that she was hurt by his caginess on the subject especially when he refused to elaborate on why he wouldn't let her use it.  
  
He thought it was justified considering her reaction.  
  
“‘G’? Stop joking around Greg and just tell me already, ‘G’ is a letter not a name.”  
  
  
6\. His team  
  
G separated from his wife four years later, a week after he received news of an impending promotion following the resignation of DI Olsen and divorced her two years after that.  
  
There were a multitude of reasons that their marriage cracked open like an overripe watermelon and G couldn’t completely blame Sandra for what happened. She was nine years younger than him and though the newlywed bliss was able to smooth the first few fractures that appeared, in the end she couldn’t stand being a policeman’s wife. She tried, both of them did but G knew that the constant danger and irregular work hours wore her down until she just couldn’t take it anymore.  
  
The promotion was what tipped her over the edge and made her give up on salvaging their marriage. It wasn’t like there were children that could have kept them together anyway. He was willing to admit it was his fault for all of that.  
  
G blamed her for having an affair.  
  
That didn’t mean he loved her any less though.  
  
Somehow he managed to pull himself together to get to Scotland Yard and receive his promotion without being completely smashed.  
  
The first day he met his new team was also the day he met Sherlock Holmes. Technically he met him before since he consulted on difficult cases on his previous team but both had ignored the other. Now that he was in charge however he needed to make sure this man was actually going to be a help instead of a hindrance.  
  
“You’re a man in your late thirties, divorced, no, separated from your wife. Probably due to her distaste in your chosen profession and also because she was unfaithful. No children though you wish you did so either yourself or your wife is infertile, most probably not your wife, especially if it was due to an injury related in some kind to being a policeman which would explain her hatred and her affair. You originally studied law in university to honour your father who was a lawyer himself. You’re very careful about money however so he either wasn’t a very successful one or you weren’t able to access sufficient funds.” Sherlock studied him as G just gaped in astonishment. “The latter seems more likely. Death. Orphanage. Then there’s the matter about your name. You obviously have an issue with it, probably some inane reason that is just as stupid as the rest of the silly little thoughts in your vacant brains though your wife is certainly part of the –”  
  
“Shut up freak and piss off!” One of his people interrupted rather shakily but no less determined. Her name was Donovan, G’s mind supplied and he felt grateful for the rude but hardly unwelcome defence of him.  
  
Sherlock’s face remained impassive while his reply was acidic. “I know that it is terribly hard for your brain to keep up and process this but I wasn’t talking to you Constable. Is that enough Detective Inspector or do you still think I’m an amateur?”  
  
G gathered himself up but said with a remarkable amount of calm and steel, “That doesn’t mean you can barge in on my investigation. If there is a case where I need your consulting, I’ll call for you. Otherwise stay out of my crime scenes. Please.”  
  
He watched as Sherlock Holmes gave a huff and strode away making several disparaging comments about him and the rest of the team along the way, rather shaken on how the man had seemingly read his whole life as if out of a book.  
  
“Detective Inspector, about what he said…” He turned to see Donovan nervously at his elbow.  
  
“It’s nothing. It's Lestrade by the way.” That was one name he could always count on. He was getting tired of making up names anyway.  
  
“Right, sorry.” She turned as if to walk away before she faced him again. Resolved but tense. G was pleased to see that at least she had the attitude of a cop, even if she was very new. “If you don’t mind me asking, what does the G. stand for sir?”  
  
“There is a crime to solve Donovan. Unless you actually think we need Sherlock Holmes…?” G knew he made his point when Donovan quickly moved away after pulling a face.  
  
He didn’t need to be Gabriel or Greg or George anyway.  
  
Lestrade was perfectly fine and he felt himself sinking at the realisation it was Sherlock Holmes of all people who helped him come to this realisation.  
  
God help him.  
  
  
+1 His lover  
  
G did call in Sherlock Holmes and after the first case, he found himself abducted on the way to Tesco in a black sedan. If he thought his meeting with Sherlock was bad, it had _nothing_ on the meeting with his archenemy that he knew practically nothing about. What he did know was that there was no way in hell he was going to accept the smarmy bastard’s money after subtly threatening him and shoving his confidential information in his face. It wasn’t because of a sudden loyalty to Sherlock Holmes either. It was the mere principle of the matter and taking bribes, no matter how prettily worded, was a dangerous, slippery slope that he wasn’t going to go near with a ten foot pole.  
  
He left and though he remained wary, quickly pushed this archenemy out of his mind and instead focused on the reason of his abduction in the first place. The fact he had no information to go on to actually find out who the bastard was only increased his annoyance.  
  
Sherlock Holmes was just as difficult to manage as he thought and there were times that he just wanted to throttle the man. G needed him however and desperate times called for desperate measures but then again, he knew that Sherlock needed him as well, needed him to bring him cases to alleviate his boredom. At least G managed to stop him from coming onto crime scenes completely high and still manage to solve the case in two seconds flat before insulting him with his wide range of vocabulary and disappearing again. John Watson’s arrival was a godsend that couldn’t have come soon enough and G knew he wasn’t the only officer who thought that. Sherlock was just as insulting and snarky as ever but at least now he actually took the time to explain instead of dashing in and out, barely giving G any time to write his deductions down. The lack of his skull when he showed up was always a plus as well.  
  
Six years of frustrated tolerance and then one year spent in the company of John actually made G somewhat consider Sherlock Holmes as a friend, or as close to it as you can get with someone like him. So maybe punching him in the face after receiving news that he wasn’t actually dead probably wasn’t the best way of welcoming Sherlock home but considering what had happened, he thought himself quite reasonable. It wasn’t like he broke his nose. No, _that_ honour belonged to John.  
  
The only thing he did regret was being kidnapped. _Again._ G was pleased with himself when he recognised the smarmy bastard and even if he did forget his face, there was no way in hell to forget that bloody umbrella that he twirled around like Mary Poppins. He was less pleased when he blurted that fact out.  
  
“While I commend your memory Detective Inspector Lestrade and nicknaming skills, my name is Mycroft Holmes.”  
  
“You’re Sherlock’s _brother?_ ” G couldn’t really see it. Sherlock was all hard, sharp angles and long limbs not to mention ridiculously thin. This man…was not.  
  
“Your talent of stating the obvious is astounding.”  
  
Okay, so maybe G could see the familial resemblance. The fact that Sherlock Holmes had a brother crashed into him and he only just managed to withhold a groan. If the rumours according to John about these two were true…Dear lord, how had London survived without being burnt down to the ground? Then, “Wait a second, did you know Sherlock was alive all this time?”  
  
Mycroft gave him a Look as if he had just asked the most idiotic question ever and maybe he had. Moving on then. “So why did you abduct me off the street?”  
  
“Abduct? Oh no. I was just passing by when I saw you leave Baker St and as Sherlock’s older brother, I thought it was my duty to give my little brother’s friend a ride home. Sherlock would be insufferable if something were to happen to you only a few hours after he returned home.” Mycroft gave a sigh. “He does like to resort to theatrics when he throws a tantrum.”  
  
G blinked, rather bemused and had a sudden image of a child Sherlock rolling around and beating his fists on the ground while big fat tears rolled down his cheeks before hastily shoving the thought away. “Right.” He didn’t believe the reason for a second. Was it paranoia to wonder if he was about to be threatened by a genius’s brother after punching said genius?  
  
The car slid to a stop and G nodded to Mycroft before exiting. He watched the car move away and hoped fervently that that would be the last time he saw him. One Holmes was quite enough.  
  
Needless to say, that hope was wasted.  
  
The third time he met Mycroft was a fortnight later after a case with Sherlock and again, after another solved case with Sherlock’s help. G wasn’t an idiot, no matter how much Sherlock claimed he was, and he soon realised that their meetings were increasing in frequency from once every few months, usually after a case, to once a week. The places they went to became better as well. Instead of a short conversation in a car, it became conversation over dinner at a posh restaurant or even a visit to the opera.  
  
  
It took Sherlock to wake G up and realise what was happening. He gave him a look filled with equal measures of disgust and disbelief a few days after his latest meeting with Mycroft. “Mycroft? _Mycroft_ of all people?”  
  
“We’ve become…friends.” G realised that was actually true. They still discussed Sherlock but most often than not, they simply talked and G enjoyed those conversations.  
  
“Obviously.” Sherlock looked at him with horrified fascination. “I thought you’re the least foolish amongst all the other sheep in your team of idiots but clearly I’m wrong if _Mycroft_ is your type.”  
  
G replayed all his meetings with Mycroft and the conversation he just had and…Oh. _Oh._ The revelation slammed into him with all the subtlety of a speeding train. He was rather proud that he managed to get out a stern, “Shut up Sherlock and go complain to your own boyfriend,” before his mind threatened to shut down.  
  
 _Mycroft_ was taking him out on dates.  
  
Mycroft was taking him out on _dates_.  
  
Mycroft was taking _him_ out on dates.  
  
 _Mycroft_ was _dating_ him.  
  
G’s mind couldn’t take it anymore and promptly exploded.  
  
It took a while for his mind to reboot and by the time a car came to pick him up for another meeting, no, _date_ with Mycroft, he was relatively sure he knew what he was going to do.  
  
G knew that Mycroft had probably already seen through his nervousness and he didn’t know whether to be glad or not he didn’t mention anything over tea at his townhouse. He finally got the courage to cough before asking bluntly, “Are you dating me?”  
  
To his credit, Mycroft didn’t even twitch. “Yes. Are you adverse to a romantic relationship with me?”  
  
“Why me?” Someone with that much influence, intellect and power could have anyone he wished so why him of all people?  
  
“You are an interesting conversationalist and I find myself attracted to you. I know you are too, ever since our first meeting.”  
  
So maybe G’s first reaction wasn’t _who the hell are you?_ and was _bloody hell, I am so **not** attracted to him_ but he was going to ignore that and focus on more important things. “You’re dedicated to your work. A relationship between us probably won’t work out.”  
  
“I disagree. You are just as dedicated to your work as I am to mine. What’s more both of us understand the significance we regard for our work.” Mycroft paused then added, “I also want this relationship my dear, and I hope you desire the same.”  
  
And that was that.  
  
Strangely enough, nothing really changed. They still spent time in each other’s company as often as possible only now; they were filled with tender touches, soft kisses and the occasional night of sex. Sometimes, Mycroft has to leave for business for a few days and other times G was the one who spent all week in his office for a particularly hard case before going home to Mycroft and do nothing but sleep. It didn’t matter because they made it work and that was the most satisfactory thing of all.  
  
It was six months into their relationship when G realised Mycroft never called him by his name. He either addressed him using a term of endearment or nothing at all.  
  
He brought it up one day. “Why don’t you ever call me by my name?”  
  
Mycroft looked up curiously from his newspaper that probably didn’t contain anything he didn’t already know. “You never told me my dear.”  
  
G cast his mind back and realised that was true. Mycroft knew who he was from the get go and so he had seen the need to introduce himself. “You probably know it already.”  
  
“I find it more polite for you to inform me yourself.”  
  
G waited but seeing nothing was forthcoming demanded, “Aren’t you going to ask then?”  
  
Mycroft gave a smile. “It’s your decision to tell me or not. I’m not going to force you.”  
  
G couldn’t help but remember his failed marriage with Sandra and he realised that he didn’t want to lie in a so far surprisingly honest relationship. “My name is G.” There he said it. He studied Mycroft’s face. “You’re not surprised.” It was a statement not a question.  
  
“I realised it wasn’t your initial when I saw several instances where there was no dot after the G.” Mycroft agreed placidly.  
  
“So why didn’t you use it?”  
  
Mycroft studied G before carefully putting down the paper. “I realised you were uncomfortable with your name and I don’t want you to feel that way, especially when you are in my company. I can use that name if you wish.”  
  
It was his sincerity that made G, for the first time, willing to share. No one else had actually given him a choice in this matter. In a world where everything had its own label, a name was an important aspect in how people defined themselves or wanted others to define them. Of course Mycroft Holmes was different. He gave him a choice and that was all the difference. G made his choice.  
  
“My mum died after I was born…”  
  
G talked and Mycroft listened and the world continued marching on. He was still Gabriel to the occasional old friend that bumped into him, just like he was Greg to all his fellow officers. He was Lestrade to his faithful and competent team, no matter what Sherlock said, and Sandra still called him George when she called to tell him she was getting remarried.  
  
Only one person in the whole world who was still alive actually _knew_ him as G Lestrade, knew the _story_ behind the name, knew _him_.  
  
It was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed nor am I British so apologies for any spelling/grammatical errors. Any corrections will be helpful and welcome (:


End file.
